Game of Thrones - One Shots

Petyr Baelish - Confident

/// Season 3 spoilers ///

Lord Petyr Baelish...

The man that seemed to be your only chance not to fall in the pit of dumbness, the only escape from sharing your life with all these peasants. You came from the Isle of Lys, born in a modest family; by that, you missed of nothing, your parents did not push you into any arranged marriage even though you had been in age for a couple years. You had a great life. Or so that's what they- your parents and other families from Lys- wanted you to believe. Ultimately, you just couldn't take anymore of this boring life that you had. You wanted to see the world; you wanted the world. You left your home country without saying goodbye and sailed for King's Landing. You had taken just enough gold to be able to buy some food for a couple days but you knew you needed to find more money, especially if you wanted to be higher than the peasants back in Lys. One day, you came into his brothel and proposed your services to him. Being the gorgeous woman you were he accepted; and he did not regret it one bit. In less than a moon you had become his best investment. All day, everyday, men fought at the entry of the brothel to decide which one of them would be the one that would own you for a little while.

One thing leading to another and Petyr started talking to you. At first he was only asking you if you needed anything, if his clients did you no harm; you were his best girl, he undoubtedly did not want to lose you; but then, as time went on, he came to you weekly... then daily, and even sometimes, twice a day. In the four months you had spent as one of his whores, you had unconditionally won the trust of the whoremonger. He told you everything -from his meetings with the small council to his relations from all over the Seven Kingdoms.

Except, there was a time he did not come at your confident sessions. You found this a little bit odd... Where did Littlefinger go? He had not missed one day since he started to confide in you, not once. Since he usually came to you, you thought that it might be your turn to go to him. The first place that came to your mind was his room; and so you went. As there was no doors, you lightly knocked on the crimson velvet that covered the walls.

"Go away." No doubt, it was him. Although he was known to keep a stiff upper lip, his voice, sometimes, betrayed him. You had spoken so many times about different matters that you could know what he felt just by the sound of his voice. You identified the cold tone as anger and the slight- almost inexistant- quivering on the last syllable as, sadness? He had shown you many of his feelings but sadness was never one of them.

"It is me, my Lord." You replied with your sweet voice rolling off your tongue. You knew he would not refuse your help, after all, he told you himself that a big weight was being lifted out of his shoulders after every single one of his confessions. And right now was the time he needed you the most. You heard some fabric being shuffled due to him making himself presentable most probably.

"Oh (Y/N)... Please, do come in." You did as you were told; as you took in the very structure of the room that you had only visited once since you arrived, your eyes finally landed on the Master of coins. His appearance made you feel nothing else but pity. He was sitting on his couch, only wearing a tunic and some light trousers, his hair was a birds-nest -his fingers still running in it to fix it failed miserably- and his face... Oh, his face. He was nothing like the man that the people on court knew, no, he looked weak; if you didn't know better you'd say he looked broken. You knew what he wanted you to do, so you played your part; rushing to his side, throwing yourself at his feet, resting your arms on his legs and your head above them.

"Oh my!... What happened, my Lord? What is troubling you?" You did your best to look as innocent as it was possible, with an exaggerated expression of concern. In the numerous weeks you had spent in this building, you not only had won the trust of Littlefinger, but also learned quite a few of his tricks; now your eyes lied as easily as your tongue.

"I-I... Catelyn Stark... You remember her? I told you about her, about the things I've done to be with her. I told you about my l- well you know..." He spoke with such passion about the Stark lady that you couldn't help but feel a bit envious. No man had ever spoken about you the way he did with her, but you did not show any of that. You nodded slightly, keeping a startled expression as you waited for him to continue. "Sh-she d-, she is d-" Now that was not a sight everybody could see in their life; Lord Petyr Baelish crying. And not only did he cry, he was mourning the death of his one true love: Catelyn Stark. Not that you cared about the affection he had for the now deceased woman, you kept your role as his simple-minded confident with no ulterior motive.

"My condolences, My Lord. I know how much she meant to you-" You were cut off by Petyr standing up and shoving you out of his way. You had never seen this side of him but were pretty sure he was about to go off the deep end.

"Oh do you? Do you now?" He was shouting, it seemed all the tension he had accumulated over the years were now pouring out of his mouths in different insults. "How can you know anything? You're just a low-born whore with nothing in her brain!" You had not expected such an outburst from him, but this only meant that he trusted you more than anyone -in front of whom would he have had this reaction if it wasn't you? You forced yourself to cry, like you did every night so you won't have to during the day. You brought your knees up to your face and started repeating "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry, milord." again and again... until he took you in his arms; hugging you tightly, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back.

"Shhh... no, don't be sorry. I should not have screamed." Your grip on your legs lessened, you dared looking upwards for your eyes to meet his. One tear was gliding down your cheek; Petyr wipped it away. You noticed him glancing at your lips but his eyes drifted to yours in a blink of an eye, "Do you forgive me, (Y/N)?" his voice was barely above a whisper, more hoarse than usual. You shook your head, breaking eye contact with him.

"There is nothing to forgive, my Lord." Your chin was lifted up by two of his fingers; when his eyes met back with yours he smirked:

"Please, call me Petyr." Your lips linked with his and at that exact moment you knew you had won the heart of Petyr Baelish. With him at your side everything seemed possible; the throne will be yours as much as his heart was.

Or was it?